


Milk Carton Faces

by windyways



Series: Trolls and Fairies and Flying Mint Bunnies [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Bittersweet, Comfort, Death, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Happy Ending, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Happy Ending, Heartache, Heartbreak, Loss, Lost Love, M/M, Magic, One Shot, One Shot Collection, Physical Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Resurrection, Revolutionary War, Romance, Sad with a Happy Ending, Slow Burn, Soldiers, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-06-29 18:44:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19836292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windyways/pseuds/windyways
Summary: Before each meeting, the nations pass around pictures of people they've known who are now long gone in hopes of finding them again one day. One of those faces is yours.This is a series of Hetalia X Reader oneshots that all revolve around the same prompt. Some chapters are more graphic while others are fluffier. It's really a mix of different stories, so check the notes at the beginning of each chapter for more info about sensitive content.Inspired by Hetalia: Beautiful World Episode 15 - A bientôt! Until We Meet Again!





	1. The Search (Intro)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! This is going to have multiple chapters for the different characters, but this is the setup chapter. :D This work will be updated as I write more. Because there are so many countries, let me know if there's anyone you'd like me to write for, and in the meantime, I'm going to start hammering away on a few chapters.

The nations gathered as usual for their regular world conference. From the outside, casual observers only saw disagreeable nations and constant bickering, but what they failed to notice was the solemn pre-meeting ritual they held every time. When their coats were off and their coffee was poured, every nation took out an item. Most were images of faces. Some were forensic drawings done by China, the most skilled artist amongst them, while some were photographs. A few had scraps of handwriting with names jotted down.

Before each meeting, the countries would share their items with each other, the faces and writings of people lost to time. It had started long ago with France’s superstition that people could be reborn. While many rolled their eyes at him initially, their heavy hearts eventually gave in to his bittersweet fantasy. The idea of being reconnected with someone who was gone was too great, and suddenly piles of images started appearing on the table.

The images and scraps were passed around the table to be inspected by each person there. It had all seemed pointless for quite a while, like they were needlessly subjecting themselves to torture.

Until they actually found someone.

Jeanne d’Arc had been reborn as a young woman named Lisa.

And then they found another.

A man America had known as a child, Davie, walked past him on the busy streets of New York. He had done a double take so hard it had just about snapped his neck.

That was enough to give their aching spirits hope. It was only a matter of time until they found someone else.

So the search continued.


	2. China - Absolutely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alone in a strange new country, China works hard to make a living for himself. It seems, however, he's not alone in pursuing his new life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> China deserves the world which is why I'm going to snatch it from him and then give it back. Makes perfect sense.
> 
> Brief mention of abuse in this chapter.

It was 1865 in America. Desperate for work, China and many of his fellow countrymen had sailed to the rapidly industrializing new country for a chance at freedom, opportunities, and a fresh start where the only thing in your way was how hard you could work. Yao knew he wouldn’t stay forever, but the idea sure was alluring.

The Gold Rush in California had made it painfully obvious that there was a need for transportation, namely a railroad. While the project heads for the transcontinental railroad had been reluctant at first, they were quickly convinced that the Chinese immigrants they’d hired were more than capable of completing the work and began hiring them by the boatload.

The work was hard, punishing even, but Yao couldn’t let himself falter. He’d always been a hard worker, slowly developing his grit over the years. He’d never had the luxury to slack off whether it was in the rice patties at home or the railroad in this strange new place. He worked under the hot sun, the first part of the tracks going through town. The Americans sneered at the immigrant workers, generally unfriendly, while everyone else chatted amongst their own ethnic groups. The Irish stuck with the other Irish workers, the Lithuanians talked with the other Lithuanians, and the Chinese workers spoke with the other Chinese workers, each group speaking in their own distinctive language when not using broken English. While he felt some comfort being surrounded by other Chinese nationals, there was still a gaping loneliness. Many of the other families had come over with just that – entire families. He had come alone. He had no spouse, no parents, and his siblings hadn’t come with him, having their own countries to deal with.

When it was time for a break, China lowered his pickaxe and slowly stood up, stretching his back after several long hours of being hunched over. The breaks were always too short. His muscles screamed, and the sun beat down even harder as his stomach gnawed at him. No matter what he did, it never seemed like he could eat enough. He was using so much energy every day.

China looked over when he felt a soft tap on his shoulder, stopping when he saw you. You offered him a friendly smile. He looked you over, wondering what immigrant group you belonged to. You wore plain working clothes so he couldn’t get a good idea of what your ethnicity was. Now that he looked again, your work clothes weren’t suited for the physical labor he’d been doing, and they looked fairly clean. You must have been a factory worker. Yao was starting to itch with curiosity.

“Are you thirsty?” you asked him in perfect English.

His eyes widened in surprise. You were an American. What on EARTH were you doing talking to him? None of the American-born people had ever been friendly towards him, either verbally beating him down or trying to exploit him since he was a “dumb immigrant.”

After a moment, China returned to himself and slowly shook his head, not understanding what you’d said. You half grimaced and looked up at the sky as you searched for answers on how to communicate. You raised your eyebrows when the idea came to you, holding out a metal canteen to him.

“It’s hot. You need to drink and stay hydrated.”

Still reeling from what the hell was going on, he shook his head and held out his hand to reject your offer, but you pushed the canteen into his hand using your other hand to close his outstretched one around the canteen.

“Please…”

It didn’t take a genius to figure out what you were saying. It was apparent from your tone that you weren’t going to leave him alone until he had some of your water. You were pushy, typical for an American, yet it was heartfelt and gentle, not the suffocating feeling he’d experienced at the market where vendors were overbearing and shoved things in his face.

China slowly nodded and took the canteen from you, unscrewing the cap and taking a drink. He’d only planned to take a small sip to make you happy and get you to leave him alone, but the cold water on his parched throat was _so good._ By the time he lowered the canteen and let out a sigh, all of the water was gone. He made a face when he realized he’d taken all of your water, but you were smiling at him. He murmured something you didn’t understand as he held the tin back out which you assumed was something along the lines of _sorry_ by the way he was sheepishly looking away from you, blushing from embarrassment.

“Thank you,” you said. With that, you were gone.

 _What a strange person,_ Yao thought as he concerned himself with getting his lunch.

Things only got weirder from there. He was startled when you tapped his shoulder at the same time the next day, bewildered by your presence. You laughed quietly at the puzzled look on his face and held out your canteen. China knew what you wanted and slowly took the canteen, unscrewing the top. Was this a sick, degrading joke you were playing? Was this your way of lording over him since he was a Chinese national? He didn’t have to drink your water and appease— _oh god, it was so **good.**_

You laughed when he turned red, realizing all of the water was once again gone. That was the thing. There was nothing degrading about your laugh. He may not have understood what you said, but your tone and body language spoke volumes. Your two random visits had made him realize how weak his English was. Perhaps he should start practicing so he could properly thank you. He simply bowed his head and held the canteen back out to you. You took the empty container and gently pressed your finger against his forehead, righting him once again. He managed to give you a broken _“thank you.”_

“There’s no need for that. I’ll see you tomorrow.” You waved as you walked away. China waved back, but by the time he’d come out of his stupor, your back was already turned as you left.

As promised, you were back the next day.

And the next.

And the next.

On the sixth day, he barked at the other Chinese workers who were snickering at the two of you. He’d learned how to introduce himself and you learned his name was Yao. You told him you liked his name to which he flushed and rubbed the back of his head, devolving to mumbled Chinese which had the other workers howling with laughter.

On the seventh day, he was working without his shirt when you arrived, black suspenders hanging loosely from his waistband. You almost passed out watching him wipe the sweat from his forehead because his chiseled body was _something else_. When you asked where his wife worked, he shook his head and pulled out a black and white picture of him with his siblings. You squinted at what looked like chicken scratch under each person which prompted him to write all of their names with English characters so you could read them for yourself.

“OH! Yong-Soo!” you looked at China while pointing to Korea.

China beamed. “Yes!”

On the tenth day, it rained, so you packed accordingly, bringing him a dry towel and holding an umbrella over him. The way his long black hair plastered itself to his face made you swoon. His dirty but white work shirt, a dress shirt with long sleeves, was unbuttoned halfway and stuck to his muscles which you adored. You mentally smacked yourself for staring. You no longer had to prompt him to take the canteen. He took it with a kind smile and drank from it as usual before telling you in broken English that umbrellas were invented in his country and that they were first waterproofed there, originally meant to block out sunlight. You found yourself absolutely melting in his presence. The way he lit up when he talked about his home had you entranced. He was a new person, now lively, chatty, and cheery. Not only did you like seeing him enjoy himself, you also enjoyed learning. While you had helped him little by little with his English, he told you incredible stories of dragons, silk, and weather more humid than you’d ever known. It didn’t matter that his speech wasn’t perfect, but you longed for the day the two of you could talk for hours without any barriers.

On the eleventh day, you told him his accent was cute. He flushed red and told you how much he hated it because it marked him as a foreigner. You shook your head and told him it made him unique since everyone you knew was American. It was apparent he’d been studying hard. His English skills were considerably stronger. After months of only listening to the new language, he decided to finally start speaking it whenever he could. He used it at the work site, at the market, and with you.

“Thank you,” he told you.

“For what?”

“Breaking me out of my shell and giving me the push I needed.”

You smiled. “Absolutely.”

On the fourteenth day, he asked why.

“What do you mean?” You looked at Yao, confused.

“Why do you visit me?”

“Oh, well…I work in that factory there. I sit by the window on the second floor, so I can see parts of the construction project while I’m working.”

“Are you spying on me?” he teased.

“Wha—NO!” You turned red which made him laugh.

“Okay, but why me?”

“I like to get out of the building for lunch or when my shift changes, and I always saw you alone. I can only imagine how hard it must be to move from so far away, and I thought…maybe…you could use a friend. The others have been rude to me, so I didn’t bother to talk with anyone else…P-Plus, it’s hot out here! You’ll drop dead if you don’t take care of yourself.”

“Thank you,” he nodded.

“Absolutely.”

The days turned into weeks. You brought him water and sometimes a little something to eat when you could spare the food which he thanked you profusely for. He told you stories of terra cotta soldiers and emperors and a wall that stretched across the country much like the railroad would. You read his contract and helped him make sure he was getting a good deal when he decided to move. He shared some of his favorite recipes with you and would periodically say prayers for you, returning to his native tongue. It almost didn’t matter what he was saying, you just liked knowing that whatever he was saying was for you and you loved the way he spoke each strange new word.

Today, you’d had to physically intervene when you found the foreman beating China. You knew the immigrants weren’t treated well, and the Chinese had it the worst, but it never occurred to you that your friend was being beaten at work. You’d grabbed the foreman’s arm and shoved him backwards, screaming at him for the mistreatment. He didn’t take you seriously until you threatened to organize a desertion. You had no doubt in your mind that every other Chinese immigrant would leave with you. You and the foreman both knew that almost the entire workforce was in fact Chinese meaning the blow would be crushing, something he couldn’t afford to deal with. The foreman called you a flurry of cruel names, his face turning red, but he eventually left, furious that you were right.

Now, you were sitting in the doorway of China’s living space, patching him up the best you could, following his guidance. He sure seemed to know a lot about medicine. You felt bad that you weren’t more knowledgeable, but he insisted that you just being there was enough. Once you’d finished, you’d brought him a drawing pad and a pencil. You’d heard him talk about his art before, but you’d never seen it for yourself. He insisted that he draw you now and scolded you when you tried to peek. You decided it would be best to simply wait until he was finished.

“Are you doing alright?” you asked him gently. Your heart still hurt as you thought about the scene you’d walked in on earlier.

Yao nodded. “I’m okay. Thank you for helping me, but you didn’t need to get involved.”

“I did. You and all of those other workers have no voice there. Especially the ones who don’t speak English. What voice do they have? I couldn’t just stand back and watch that happen.”

China’s heart warmed at your words. You always surprised him in the best way. He’d never had someone else stand up for him before, it was always him watching out for others.

“Thank you for being my voice.” He took your hand and softly kissed the back of it.

You blushed lightly and smiled. “Absolutely…”

China sighed and leaned back, slouching after a long day of work. There was a moment of silence as he studied your face and continued sketching.

“Have I ever told you that I envy you?” you asked.

He thought about your question for a moment. “No, I don’t think you have. I’m not sure what you have to envy though.”

“It probably sounds silly, doesn’t it?”

“A little but go on.”

“I’m an American so I don’t deal with the same daily discrimination that you do, but I’ve never been anywhere else. This town is all I’ve known. We’re too young of a country to have any traditions or incredible stories, and it’s always just been me with no other family. It must have been so hard for you to come here and the work is terrible, but you get to see a whole new place. You have a family that you’ll go back to one day, and you’re from a country that sounds like it has such a rich, incredible culture. You’re in a whole new place, yet you’re able to talk with people who share that culture with you.” You sighed, defeated. “I guess the point is…even if you don’t belong here, you belong somewhere. And I feel like I have yet to find that sense of belonging. I have yet to find that somewhere.”

There was a long pause. You started to get restless as time dragged on, worried about what he might say in return.

“Would you like to see China with me?” he finally asked.

“What?”

“You’re right, I won’t be here forever. I plan to sail back home within a few years. When the time comes…would you like to come with me?”

You stared in shock. His question meant so much to you. It was an invitation to be a part of something bigger than your small, dusty town, to travel to somewhere new, learn new customs, and to meet a family you’d gotten to know and love through photos alone. It was an invitation to belong, if only with him, and it made you choke up.

“Y-Yes…I’d love to go with you. Thank you so much.”

Yao chuckled quietly as tears prickled in your eyes. He leaned in and softly kissed your lips. His touch lingered before he pulled away slightly, his breath against your skin. His lips ghosted their way to your forehead where he planted another gentle kiss right in the center.

“Absolutely.”

The textile factory you worked in burned to the ground the next morning. Located on the second floor, you hadn’t been able to escape the flames as they swallowed the building. 30 workers died in the fire, and the street was shut down all day while the fire was snuffed and the damage was assessed.

Your soulless body was laid out amongst the line of the dead. Yao stared down at you in disbelief. It wasn’t just you who died that day, but a part of him as well. He started to sob quietly as he said a prayer over your corpse. He recited it in Chinese, just the way you liked it.

-

America stopped and held the drawing of you in his hand. It was old and a bit faded, but the face depicted on the paper was as clear as ever. He studied it for a long while, taking in your features.

“Is something wrong, America?” Lithuania asked with concern.

“I’ve seen this face before.”

Lithuania was baffled. “What? Are you sure?”

“I’m certain.”

“Whose picture is it?” England joined in the conversation, leaning over to look at the picture.

“China’s.”

Yao’s heart stopped when he heard his name. That couldn’t be possible. Sure, they’d found a few people through this process, but none of them had ever been anyone he was looking for. Was this real?

“I’m going to take this with me to confirm. I promise to bring it back in one piece,” the American asserted.

China hesitated at the idea of losing your picture, but the temptation to possibly see you again was too strong.

“Please do.”

He paced anxiously for the next week when he heard nothing. He couldn’t focus on anything. He could barely eat, his sleep was disrupted every few hours, and he found himself so distracted that he’d started leaving things in strange places. He wasn’t sure how his keys had ended up in the salad bowl or even _when_ that had happened.

When his phone finally rang, he dove to answer it, barely able to keep himself together.

“America?”

“Yao?” you asked.

It felt like he’d been shot. It was a voice he hadn’t heard in almost 150 years, but there was no mistaking it was yours.

He was nearly crushed by another distressing week. You’d agreed to let America fly you to China to meet this man you’d only seen in your dreams. After a long sit-down with Alfred, you’d come to realize they weren’t dreams at all, but memories. The more you'd explored them with his help, the more you felt overwhelmed, nearly suffocated by the waves of emotions. You’d jumped at the idea to see him, agreeing to go without hesitation.

When the day had finally come, China thought he was going to have a heart attack at the airport. He was so anxious while he waited, but he couldn’t place why. He squeezed his eyes shut and muttered under his breath, trying to talk himself out of his impending emotional breakdown.

A soft tap on his shoulder sent his eyes flying open.

There you were, standing in front of him with that familiar warm smile.

“Hey, I know you. We still going to see China together?”

He pulled you into a tight hug, certain that his breakdown was now only seconds away.

“Absolutely…” he whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I CRIED WHILE WRITING THIS. I HOPE I WASN'T THE ONLY BABY AND SOMEONE ELSE CRIED WHILE READING THIS.


	3. America - Of Lobsterbacks and Minutemen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What do you do when you're trying to date during the American Revolution? Attend rallies, join the Minutemen, and piss off England, of course!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one ended up having more historical references than I was planning on initially, but worse comes to worst, I hope you learn a little something about America being a twat to England. This chapter title is a play on the name "Of Monsters and Men."  
> -sorrynotsorry-
> 
> This chapter has depictions of violence! You have been warned!

Tensions had been rising fast in the past few years. The British Empire’s chokehold on the American colonies had only gotten worse in the 1770s with each new tariff and act. Taxes on tea, glass, paint, oil, lead, paper, and sugar were enough to drive you mad. Before you knew it, you were going to be taxed for every breath you took.

Then there were things like the Quartering Act that made you livid. By law, you had to board British soldiers in your home if they requested the space. There was also the Quebec Act that stomped on the land claims made by the thirteen colonies and gave your precious land to the people up north. It also stripped the colonies of their elected assemblies, something so infuriating that it was dubbed one of the Intolerable Acts by the American Patriots.

Each time a new act or tax was passed, the colonists poured into the streets to protest the new rules. It was here you’d met a young man named Alfred who was equally passionate about all things regarding freedom. Once you’d met him, you couldn’t seem to escape him. He was at every rally, constantly bumping into you and was an early member of the Minutemen, a group of well-organized citizens that were known to pick up arms at a minute’s notice. The group was highly mobile, and was able to respond to war threats immediately, keeping the British in their place for the time being.

As much as you admired the Minutemen, it frustrated you to no end that they wouldn’t let you join. Their justification? You were a woman.

You’d nearly screamed Alfred’s ear off in frustration later that night when he visited your home. He’d felt so bad because of how distraught you were and racked his brain for ways to help you. All he could do at the time was pull you into a close hug as you cried angrily into his chest. He’d managed to calm you down by promising to show you how to use a musket and a blade in the coming days. You held him tightly to that promise, and that became the start of your daily combat lessons.

You’d been there for it all. The Boston Tea Party had been Alfred’s idea. A group of you had boarded the British ships docked in the harbor under the cover of night and dumped every last crate of tea into the harbor. You were NOT going to pay the tax on that tea, and King George III could go stuff it.

Patrick Henry’s “Give me liberty or give me death!” speech had been your idea. You’d gone and listened together, chanting with the rest of the crowd as you got fired up about your rebellion.

When the Minutemen and Redcoats clashed in Lexington and Concord, you’d sped by on an orphaned British warhorse and snatched America off the ground by the back of his shirt, gunfire barely missing him. You stayed close by for the rest of the battle, watching Al’s back every time he reloaded his musket.

At the Battle of Bunker Hill, you’d been busy stitching up a wounded Patriot as the commanders gave the same orders as before.

“Don’t shoot until you see the whites of their eyes!”

It had been a horrifying order to receive as the British advanced in large droves up Breed’s Hill to attack the rebelling colonists at the top, their perfect lines and red military coats coming ever closer. When the enemy was only fifteen paces away, the entire gaggle of Patriots opened fire, resulting in massive British casualties. Breed’s Hill was lost to the British that day, but the devastating dent of over 1000 wounded and killed British troops was its own victory. You and Al spared no expense on alcohol that night.

You’d jumped out of the way of bullets during the Boston Massacre. You’d hidden Alfred from the Lobsterbacks hunting him down after he’d helped tar and feather a British official. You teased the British guards in the streets by obnoxiously singing Yankee Doodle louder and louder with each battle that was won. What was once used by the British to demean the colonies was now yours to throw back in their faces. You and Al were constantly running from the troops, but your singing never died.

You helped him design, print, and paper the town with propaganda posters, dragging King George III through the mud. The times you spent with Alfred were the most freeing despite how dangerous they were. You two were second and third in line to sign the Declaration of Independence, right after John Hancock wrote his name with the biggest signature you’d ever seen.

You knew all too well that the consequences of your actions were real, and the risk of death was high, but being with Alfred made you feel so _alive_. He treated you no differently than he did anyone else and always listened to your thoughts, and together, you were an unstoppable British-taunting duo.

Now, you were in the middle of a full-blown war. And after everything you’d done, they wouldn’t even let you hold a gun.

“I know it sucks—” Al started, trying to console you.

“’It sucks’ doesn’t even begin to cover how horrible this is! What about me?! This is my home too! I want to defend it just like everyone else, but I guess only people who wear pants can do that!” It took next to nothing to get you started on another tirade.

The young nation put his hands on your upper arms, giving them a light squeeze.

“I know. I’m so sorry. I wish there was something I could do.”

“Do I mean nothing to this place?”

“Of course you mean something. Every single person means something.”

You gritted your teeth. You knew he was trying to help, but you also knew there wasn’t much either of you were able to do.

That was until America snapped his fingers, anyway.

“Al?” You gave him a curious look.

“How do you feel about a style change?”

-

Before long, you were following Alfred through the field of battle. Your short hair was much easier to deal with than the long style you’d had before, and you couldn’t even begin to express how much you loved pants. You could walk without tripping over things unlike when you wore your usual dress, and that in itself was a miracle. Pants. Were. _AMAZING._ Holding your own musket was strange, but also familiar. You were reminded of your lessons with Al when you were forced to practice in secret. Now, the only secret was your gender.

You stuck close to your friend, watching his back at all times. One day turned into the next, and before you knew it, you’d been fighting for three months. You were an expert cannon operator by this point and a master field surgeon. Alfred was a proficient swordsman and an incredible shot. Whenever the vanguard was sent ahead in the woods, Al was with them.

Nothing about the war had been nice. Limbs were blown off, bullets ripped through flesh, and infection rates were high. The camps smelled of the vilest things, and many troops starved, Private Joseph Plumb Martin even personifying it as ‘the monster, Hunger.’ Anyone sentenced to the bone saw for an amputation was as good as dead. The key to success was avoiding surgery at all costs.

In the midst of all this turmoil, you and Alfred had only grown closer. You always camped next to each other for the night. You made sure the other had enough food, and your weapons were always in top condition. He diligently defended your identity, skillfully deterring anyone who started to sniff you out over the stench of unwashed soldiers and upset stomachs. You were always together before, but now, you relied on each other to stay alive. It was a horrifying and humbling responsibility.

It was war. Things were bound to go south, you just didn’t know when.

Recently, the Patriots had suffered a number of defeats, injuries were abundant, and morale was low. A majority of General Washington’s men were ready to leave the army, and to make matters worse, it was the dead of winter.

Naturally, the General thought this would be the perfect time for an attack. The plan was brilliant in its simplicity: cross the Delaware River and take back the town of Trenton in New Jersey in the worst weather imaginable. The Hessians who were camped on the other side, German troops hired by the British Empire to help fight the Patriots, would never see you coming. The dangerous, icy river divided the two sides and snow was falling by the handful, but the fact that it was Christmas meant the Hessians would most likely be taking the day off from fighting.

Mind made up, Washington ordered boats to the shore. You and Alfred wearily but diligently hopped into one of the small rowboats together, each one packed to the brim with your comrades. With a swift shove, you began the treacherous crossing of the Delaware.

Your heart raced in your chest with each passing moment as you helped row across the choppy water. Each stroke was getting you closer to the Hessians. You took a deep breath to try and calm yourself, the frosty air slicing through your lungs. Soon enough, your boat quietly hit the beach on the opposing side of the river. Your brothers-in-arms jumped out of the boat, heaving it to shore in one swift, synchronized movement before removing their muskets from their shoulders and loading their guns. You knelt down and followed suit, your fingers shaking from the cold.

Al knelt next to you as you prepared. “You remember that I have your back, right?”

You met his eyes. You’d both lost a lot of weight since you’d started fighting. Dark circles plagued Alfred’s beautiful features, but those same determined eyes that drew you in all those years ago were still there.

You nodded. “Of course. And I have yours.”

“That’s my girl.”

Alfred glanced over his shoulder, making sure the others were still focused on their own muskets. When the coast was clear, he wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close for a heartbeat and delicately kissing your forehead before letting go again. You blushed and stared at him. He took your cold hands in his and rubbed them together, the friction beginning to warm them. He drew in a breath and brought you hands to his mouth, blowing hot air on your fingers. Satisfied, he returned your hands to you.

“Don’t freeze up on me now. You need those to pull the trigger and reload your gun.”

You nodded and got to your feet. Your comrades followed suit shortly after. It was time to launch the attack.

Everything was a blur from there on out. The Patriots stormed Trenton, surprising the Hessians who scrambled for their guns. Men stumbled through the snow as the fighting commenced. For a moment, you lost track of Al, panic rising in your stomach. You scanned the troops locked in combat to find him firing on a Hessian. You stared in horror as the gun kicked back, debris flying from the top, and hitting Al in the face. He crumpled to the ground, screaming and clutching his eye as blood streamed between his fingers and down his hand. The German soldier readied his gun, his finger on the trigger of his musket.

The shot cracked through the air just as you landed a hit on the soldier. You had the muzzle of your gun in hand and swung your musket with full force at the German. The butt of your gun knocked out the man as well as a few of his teeth, breaking his jaw.

You sank to your knees as the soldier fell, dropping your musket and gasping for air. The Hessian's musket ball had easily torn through your uniform and embedded itself in your stomach. You’d been shot. You fell to your back, staring up at the white winter clouds as your stomach burned hot from pain and pooling blood.

Alfred scrambled over to you, screaming things you couldn’t quite make out. His hand was away from his eye now, a small stream of blood running from his right eye like red tears. _He’ll need glasses_ , you thought. You let out a pained sob as he pressed his hands against your stomach to stop the bleeding, but your hearing was already muffled, your sight slowly dimming. Your mind went blank as you stared at Al’s distraught face, your body becoming lighter and lighter…

-

Christmas was never easy for America. It was the anniversary of the Crossing of the Delaware during the Revolutionary War. The American troops had come out mostly unscathed with only two deaths and five injuries. It was a huge victory, except for the fact that one of the deaths was you. He’d been one of the five injuries and needed glasses ever since. The famous painting of the Crossing left a bittersweet taste in his mouth.

At the start of each meeting, he waited anxiously for even a whisper of your name from the other nations. The whisper never came.

Frustrated and pitying himself, he decided to watch the reenactment of the Crossing this Christmas. He stood with the crowds of people, watching as the historical reenactors put on their performance. He had to admire their attention to detail. The costumes, formations, even the speech was accurate to the time.

He was pulled from his thoughts by a bump against his arm. He noticed a young woman with short hair tucked under a military style beret in front of him.

Holy shit.

“Sorry, dude,” you apologized.

He blinked in disbelief. “You…like history?”

“Sure do. I’m not sure what it is, but I’ve always been drawn to military things. Reenactments, museums, air shows, things like that.”

You had no idea who he was. A small part of him was disappointed, and yet, perhaps that was for the best. He was frequently kept up at night with visions of war. He’d never want that for you.

“If that’s the case, you’d better stick with me. I have some pretty good connections, you know.” He grinned widely.

You stared at him skeptically. He didn’t _seem_ disingenuous…

“And you are…?”

“Call me Al.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!!! <3 This one was a little out of my comfort zone, but fun to write, so let me know what you thought.


	4. England - You're My Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> England is reunited with you after hundreds of years. For you, learning to live in the modern world hasn't been the problem, but letting go of the trauma from the distant past has proven to be more difficult than anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't planning on making this chapter as long at it turned out to be, but England really wrote himself here. This format is a little different from the last two chapters that I wrote, so let me know if you like it or not.
> 
> This chapter has some depictions of violence and brief physical abuse.

You woke up screaming in the middle of the night and took off running down the hall. Your feet thumped loudly against the wooden floor as you sped towards the other bedroom, promptly throwing open the door and launching yourself onto the bed.

The occupant, still groggy from sleep and muttering something in an ancient Celtic language, had just been woken up by your fit in the other room. He was now sitting up in bed, trying to process what was happening as you threw yourself at him, causing him to shriek in surprise.

“What happened?! Are you alright?!” Arthur was trying to stay calm, but he was clearly shaken from the fright you’d just given him.

You grabbed at his waist and hugged him tightly, your forehead pressed firmly against his shoulder. The Englishman relaxed when he realized the danger wasn’t imminent, but in fact another nightmare you’d had. You’d been having them every night though some nights were better than others. Some simply woke you up after which you easily fell back asleep, while others had you inconsolable for hours.

England wrapped his arms around you and gave you a firm squeeze. He hummed quietly into your hair, your grip loosening a bit as you felt the soft rumbling of his chest.

“Everything’s alright, darling,” he whispered, crowning your head with a chaste kiss. It made you feel like royalty.

You stayed in his arms for quite some time, unmoving. The rain drizzled lightly outside, drops landing quietly on the windowpanes. You listened to Arthur’s steady breaths and closed your eyes as he stroked your hair, his fingers running lightly along your scalp. It took some time, but the effects of the nightmare slowly dulled the longer you were nestled against him.

“Do you want to tell me what you saw?” England finally asked.

You shook your head. You’d probably tell him tomorrow, but not now.

“Alright then. How about you sleep with me for the rest of the night? I’ll protect you from everything dark.” He gently pressed two fingers against your forehead, a dim, golden glow coming from his fingertips. The small spell filled you with warmth and made you feel secure, a content sigh escaping your lips. You were suddenly tired and settled in to go back to sleep.

Still upright and leaning back against the wall, Arthur pulled one of the blankets over your shoulders. He smiled to himself as you dozed off. He had a lot of work left to do to help you get over your trauma, but this small victory was enough for the meantime. He sighed quietly. As happy as he was that you were with him once again, he couldn’t help but feel awful as he watched you struggle with your fears. Nevertheless, he’d help you overcome this massive hurdle and would be there with you every step of the way.

Eventually, Arthur too fell asleep in his sitting position.

The next morning, you sat in the front room with Arthur, a cup of tea out for each of you. He may not be a terribly good cook, but he was quite skilled when it came to preparing different drinks and very knowledgeable about the varieties of teas available.

You were seated on the sofa while Arthur sat on the footstool right in front of you. You tried to prepare yourself for the inevitable question, balling up your hands as they rested in your lap.

“I know it’s hard, but can you tell me what you dreamt of last night?” he asked carefully.

“That’s the worst part…It wasn’t just a dream. It was a memory. It was so vivid too…” you trailed off and looked off to the side, turning your head.

Arthur gently took your chin in his hand and turned your head back towards him. His green eyes locked with yours, eyebrows drawn together slightly. He’d looked like this a lot recently, creases in his face not from annoyance or stress, but from his now serious attitude and concern for you.

“Please, love. I only want to help you.”

“I know…” you choked.

England let go of your chin and took both of your hands in his, giving them a light squeeze.

“Take your time. You have my undivided attention.”

-

The Plague had torn through Europe in the mid-1300s.

Massive black boils covered nearly everyone, leaking blood and pus. Attempts to cure the disease included blood letting and cutting the boils open to drain them. Such treatments only made things worse, and the patients became sicker and sicker.

The disease seemed to spread with only so much as a glance from a sick person to a healthy person. People abandoned their dying loved ones and fled for the country in an attempt to save themselves, but they weren’t safe. The disease affected livestock as well. Many people thought this was God’s punishment and tried to win his forgiveness by going after the troublemakers in town, organizing mobs to hunt down anyone who was different.

Priests refused last rites, doctors turned away patients, and shops were closed until further notice. Attempts to protect oneself ranged from bathing in rose water or vinegar to burning herbs.

While there was no doubt the Black Death was horrible, you saw what others couldn’t, the nightmare the sickness truly was.

Your “second sight” as you’d named it revealed to you the demons that were causing people to fall ill. Ghostly, translucent figures latched themselves onto people. They were horribly deformed, resembling monsters. Some had claws, others had tails, many had teeth like knives, and a few were covered in spines and horns. You watched as they bit people, tore into their skin, and hopped from one person to another like supernatural vermin. No amount of bathing in rosewater was going to remove the demonic presence that had already attached itself to someone. When someone tried to escape town, the monsters hopped onto their carts or backs and went with them.

As people died, you watched as the demons dragged their screaming souls through the streets, pulled by their necks or ankles to God only knew where. The larger ones killed people faster, seeming to feed off their life force. They howled when people threw up and dropped dead in the streets. They screamed as the mobs killed yet another poor townsperson, and hungrily watched the few healthy civilians walk past them.

You’d watched them attack your family and drag their struggling souls away. You hauled every last body from your house out into the road and set their corpses on fire, doing what you could to siphon the demons’ food supply. They shrieked at the flames and darted off to other houses for feeding now that your cottage had been entirely picked clean save for you.

You’d locked yourself inside your room for days, tears streaming down your face as you shook constantly from fear. The howls of the hellish creatures never stopped no matter the hour and the rotting stink of death and vinegar was always present. You knew it was only a matter of time before they broke into your room or the mobs found you. Your second sight had gotten you into trouble before, and it would inevitably get you again. There’s no doubt they’d try to sacrifice you to appease God and earn his forgiveness. You could tell them it wouldn’t do anything, but they’d never listen to you.

-

You watched the cars drive by as you walked with Arthur down the sidewalk, holding his hand so you wouldn’t get lost. He took you everywhere, even when he was busy doing boring work things like today. You’d followed him to get tea, all over the parliament building, and once or twice to the post office. You were now heading back to the parliament building after lunch, but you didn’t mind. You enjoyed simply being near him.

London was extremely crowded and always drenched from the rain, but you didn’t mind it. It was a nice change from the small town you’d lived in before. You sometimes became anxious at the idea of the Black Death returning, but Arthur constantly reassured you that developments in medicine had minimized its effects. It was still around, but only a tiny portion of the population was affected each year, and even then, there was a chance to get treatment.

The massive clock you’d come to know as Ben was what perplexed you the most about city life. The sun was your only measure of time before, and now, everyone’s lives seemed to be planned down to the second, victims of time and schedules rather than rising and setting with the sun. You frequently waved at the clock when you passed by, bidding the structure a quiet _Hello, Ben_ or _See you tomorrow_. Arthur would always try to correct you, telling you it was named _Big Ben_ , but that didn’t stop you from talking to the clock as if it were a person.

You parked yourself at an ornate couch next to a coffee table once back inside the parliament building. Here, you waited while England left for a meeting further down the hall. It was nice to have a bit of peace and quiet by yourself. Well, you and flying mint bunny, that is. The soft creature took to curling up in your lap or sitting on your shoulder whenever you stopped somewhere. Arthur had been a little jealous at first but dismissed it when he saw how at ease you were around his friend. This time, the bunny had promptly curled up and fallen asleep in your lap.

You’d fallen asleep on the couch shortly after arriving, still exhausted from the nightmares that disrupted your nights. When it was time to go, Arthur gently shook your shoulder.

“It’s time to go, love,” he quietly whispered in your ear.

You grumbled at being woken up, but you couldn’t be mad when his voice was as sweet as honey. He kissed your temple which caused you to sigh and open your eyes. You blinked the sleep away and stretched your shoulders. Arthur offered you his hand which you took and rose from the couch.

The sun was setting as you left the parliament building, streetlights and shop lights humming to life. You looked over your shoulder and waved to the clock tower.

“Bye, Ben,” you muttered. “See you tomorrow.”

England smiled slightly and shook his head.

-

The only thing that managed to pull you from your hiding spot was the sound of the demons suddenly stopping. You reluctantly unlocked your door and left your room. You carefully crept to the front of the house and looked out the window. A blonde young man in a black cloak was standing in the middle of the town square, a thick book tucked under his arm. To anyone else watching, it looked like nothing had changed, but you noted the piles of dead demons at his feet. Every last one was now unmoving, laying on the ground. You opened your front door, hands trembling on the latch. The man didn’t notice you approaching him at first, acting as if nothing happened. He finally looked at you when you stopped only a few paces in front of him.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

“How…How did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“The demons…They’re gone.”

His pressed his mouth into a tight line, knowing exactly what you were referencing.

“Come inside.” You waved him over to your house. He hesitated for a brief moment before following you in. It was safer to talk behind closed doors.

The man introduced himself as Arthur, a traveler from a distant town. You learned that he was out trying to do whatever he could to help the current state of things, visiting different towns all over the land. He set the heavy book he carried down on your table as you hung his cloak on a nearby hook. It was heavy and thick, made from wool to keep out the cold while he journeyed.

“You can see them too?” You only nodded in response to his question.

“I see. That’s most unfortunate.”

“I can hear their screams…I watch them consume people in the streets. But no one else knows. I’m the only one.”

Arthur nodded as he listened. He knew firsthand what you’d experienced, how the demons howled without rest. He’d wished he was the only one who could see what was happening. He’d been willing to live with the curse of second sight if it meant no one else had to suffer what he was going through, but it seemed that his pleas to no deity in particular had not been heard.

“It’s horrible…and there’s nothing I can do about it. There’s no one I can talk to, and I have no way to defend myself. I can’t save anyone…My family is gone, and I’m so scared and alone.” Your response was forced as you tried not to cry.

The blonde sighed quietly. He felt bad for you; he really did. How could he help you though? Once he left, the demons would eventually return to town. His solution of bringing relief to settlements was simply a bandage, not a cure. That was, unless, he could keep the demons away from you.

“Why don’t you come with me, love? You have nothing left for you here, and I can keep the monsters away from you.”

“Y-You can?”

“Yes.”

You thought about what Arthur had done to the demons in the square. He was right, you had nothing to keep you here anymore. Times were desperate, and he was your best shot at keeping yourself safe. With some reluctance, you sighed and nodded.

-

You shook your head as you watched over Arthur’s shoulder.

“Like this.” You placed you hand over his and guided him as he stirred the pot of soup. “Continue like that.”

You went over to the cupboard and pulled out a few spice containers. Arthur always seemed to forget he had these when it came time to cook. You put a few sprinkles of each into the pot before taking a clean spoon and tasting the soup.

“It’s wonderful. You did a great job,” you smiled at him.

“It was a team effort.”

“I just topped it off. You did everything else.”

He blushed at your praise. You knew he was easily flustered and self-conscious when it came to his cooking. He wasn’t necessarily bad; he just needed some guidance.

You helped clean up after dinner, anxiously looking out the window at the darkness that had descended on the city. You shivered at the thought of demons hiding in the dark and returned to the front room after you’d changed into your pajamas. Arthur was sitting on the couch, also in his pajamas, with a book in his hand. He looked up when you sat down next to him, a small grimace tugging at the corner of his mouth as he sensed your discomfort. He closed his book and set it to the side.

“Let’s do something fun, teacake.”

You smiled slightly and rolled your eyes. He called you that whenever he was trying to be funny or lighten the mood.

“Like what?”

“How do you feel about drawing?”

“Arthur, you know I’m not very good, and your drawings are much better than mine.”

“I’m not here to judge you. Humor me.”

You sighed, knowing you’d give in with just a little pressure. “Alright, let’s draw.”

“I’m going to shut out the lights though.” He took your hand as you tensed up. You trusted him completely so you reluctantly nodded.

In the same instant that Arthur turned off the lamp next to him, the tip of your pointer finger began to glow a light green color, dimly illuminating the room. You stared at the light. He was always full of surprises. England got up, his finger touched by gold light instead of green.

“Let me see, now what shall I draw?” He tapped his chin before starting to draw in the air. The gold light from his finger hung in the air like brush strokes as he moved his hand. A few strokes later, he’d drawn a kitten.

“There we are. It’s nearly perfect, isn’t it—” He was cut off by his own sneeze, gold sparkles flying everywhere, and just like that, the kitten got up and started to move. The small animal meowed at England, rubbing its head against his arm. He laughed and smiled, petting the cat’s head. “ _Now_ it’s perfect.”

“You’re amazing, Arthur.” You grinned widely and got up, starting on your own drawing.

Maybe the darkness was alright when he was around.

-

After your initial meeting, you and Arthur traveled all over Europe together. On foot, by horse, hitching rides on wooden carts, however you could. He continued to perform his miracles in each town you saw, sometimes making emergency house calls to farms that had been overrun by demons. You knew the demons would eventually be back from wherever he’d chased them to, but even a few moments of peace without them was worth it.

He showed you his spell book and taught you more about your second sight, how it was both a gift and a curse. You had a hard time understanding how it could be a gift, but you listened intently as he explained to you that he wanted to rid the world of everything evil so you would only have to see the good. When all you could see were fairies and trolls, you’d no longer be able to tell him your second sight was a curse, and you’d have to admit it was a gift.

Arthur was a sweet man. He had trouble expressing himself sometimes, especially in front of people he didn’t know well, but your safety and well-being was always his main concern. He’d crafted matching amulets for the two of you so he could always find you in case you got separated. When he opened up, you learned all kinds of things about him. Where he was from, who his siblings were, how he first started practicing magic. He offered to teach you, but you were too overcome with fear of accidentally doing something in public that would get you killed. He reassured you that if you ever changed your mind, he’d be there to help you.

When he wasn’t banishing demons, he was napping. He was still a beginning sorcerer which meant his spells took quite a lot out of him. You did what you could to help support him by making food, rubbing his head, or simply talking with him about less serious topics than the issues you were dealing with every day. Mostly, you talked about the future, the life you hoped for when the demons eventually left. You talked about if either of you wanted kids or not, where you wanted to live, how many chickens you’d have. It was during one of these chats that he asked, red-faced, if you saw him at all in your future.

“That’s the thing, Arthur. I don’t see my future without you in it. I wish I could be with you forever.”

He just about threw himself at you, hugging you tightly. You blushed hard and smiled sheepishly as you hugged back.

“That makes me so happy, dearest.”

“I’m glad.”

For a moment, you forgot the world, safe in each other’s embrace.

-

You touched the amulet around your neck, the other half of the set resting in Arthur’s pocket. You had your hand in his as you made your way to the waterfront.

Today Arthur wasn’t as busy as the last which prompted him to take you to all of his favorite places in London. He remembered to walk you past Ben, your new favorite structure that you seemed to have a comically close connection with. He said nothing though, letting you have your moment with the clock tower.

-

You hated when you were right. Shortly after arriving in a new town, while Arthur was out, a mob of crazed townspeople dragged you through the streets and beat you until you stopped moving.

That was the first time Arthur used his magic to harm people. Not only did he kill the demons, but he made sure no one in the town survived after what they’d done to you. He screamed until he was hoarse, tears streaming down his face all the while. He wouldn’t burn you like he usually did with the plague victims. Instead, he carried your body out into the grasslands where he gave you a proper burial. As a final touch, he dropped in the amulet he’d found on the ground next to you before covering your corpse with dirt and returning you to the Earth.

He was never quite the same after that. He periodically cast tracking spells on his amulet, hoping to get a reading on where you were, but those spells only worked when the owner of the amulet was living. The spells usually fizzled out, backfiring on occasion. He knew he was being stupid, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself.

When the nations started displaying pictures on the table, he hung his head, having nothing of yours to offer to the others. If only he’d known…It was then that China had approached him, offering to do a forensic sketch of you. Arthur sat down with the other man and described your face to the older nation who eventually produced a perfect drawing of you. From then on, he offered up your sketch at the beginning of each meeting. However, it wasn’t the portrait that helped him find you.

After a particularly rough day, Arthur prepped to perform his tracking spell. When times were hard, he’d perform the spell frequently, hoping against hope he’d find you alive. When things were better, he’d gone as long as seven months without searching for you.

Instead of backfiring, his own amulet started to glow in response to the spell. Arthur dropped the bowl of herbs in his hands, the pottery shattering on the floor. In a minute, he was out the door and running towards your location. He found you staring at the giant clock tower. Or was it the fairies flying around the structure that had your attention? It didn’t matter.

He hugged you so tightly, you thought you might suffocate. Tears poured from his eyes. He was crying so hard, the unusually sunny day was quickly taken over by dark storm clouds, rain coming down in buckets. You took him to a dry spot and eventually managed to talk him down from his hysterics, a bit confused. Over time, you learned you’d died in the 1300s and he’d been living without you ever since. It was a startling reunion with lots of new information, but you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Now, you were travelling with England to go meet his older brothers who you’d heard so much about. With any luck, they’d bless the future you planned to have together so many centuries ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Looks like you managed to survive my corniness! :'D


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